My name is Morthos Thadrius. My grandfather's father is an Angel from the immortal plane of Heaven who took up with a Iomedaen Paladin during the first crusade at the World Wound. She was killed shortly after my grandfather's birth and I've never met my great grandfather, I'm sure that he's busy, being an angel and all.
Of course my grandfather was half celestial, his wife a Human, my father didn't bear the signs and my mother was a human. He spent his life as a blacksmith. Noble, the crusade needs weapons as I see it. When I was born, my grandmother told my mother that I was a so like my grandfather and his father in appearance she was stunned. She used to call me her little angel, but that was long ago.
At fifteen I picked up a sword, one my dad had made me of course, and joined the crusade. That was a hundred years ago, I've been fighting ever since. It's who I am, the light of Iomedae, the wrath of the heavens, the scourge of evil. Though I joined in a time of relative peace, we're in between crusades after all, and I grow restless with my post in Mendev.
I met Professor Lorrimor when he visted Mendev to study demonology and binding, he spoke with many of the paladins and clerics of my order as well as the mages that work with the crusade. He became my friend, a learned and honorable man. Now my friend is dead, a sentiment I've expressed to many times in my life. I travel to help set his affairs at rest, the least I could do for so great a man. I've traveled to Ustalav before, a dark place full of undeath. I hope to fight more of the fiends, a filthy plague I'd love to wipe from the face of the earth.
